


Downpour

by randomling



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Dubious Science, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Rain, Science Experiments, Science Kink, Sexual Experimentation, Teasing, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, third eye, weird side effects of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomling/pseuds/randomling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos gains some insight into a Night Vale mystery while spending some quality time with his very favourite enigma - Cecil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downpour

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this kinkmeme prompt](http://nightvalecommunitykink.dreamwidth.org/822.html?thread=403766#cmt403766).
> 
> With many thanks to Measured Words for an excellent beta. All remaining mistakes are of course my own.

It never rains in Night Vale.

Like: never. On the list of “bizarre things about Night Vale”, Carlos figures this ranks pretty low, but _really_. Even this deep in the desert, you’re supposed to get a few inches a year. Carlos has been in town for nearly thirteen months, and he hasn’t seen any rain. There have been _clouds_ , sure - though usually they glow, or are poisonous, or have eyes, or _buzz_ , or something else weird - but not one of them, to Carlos’s knowledge, has released a single drop of moisture.

Oh, unless he counts the acid that one time. He tends not to.

In any case, Carlos is contemplating this as he drives back towards town. The advantage of the lesser mysteries of Night Vale is that he _can_ think about them while driving, or making dinner, or showering, without stopping frequently to take deep, calming breaths. As he passes the Arby’s, though, Carlos is distracted for a moment by memories of another kind of mystery.

He smiles to himself as the Arby’s recedes in the rear-view. That’s a good memory. It’s not like he hasn’t made memories this year; it’s just that most of them have been the stuff of nightmares. Reanimated animals, sinister midnight rituals, tentacles emerging from the microwave… that kind of thing. The times with Cecil are - well. Cecil tends to inspire a different kind of dream.

Carlos takes the next left and drives on in the direction of the lab. The mystery of the rain is already forgotten, swallowed up by more pleasant thoughts.

He should call Cecil later.

*

Carlos ignores the seismograph, which is registering 5.2 on the Richter scale as usual. An hour has gone by.

“Carlos,” Cecil’s voice says, sounding as delighted as ever. Carlos can’t suppress a smile. It’s been four days since their… interesting… date. Carlos is never sure how long he’s supposed to leave it after a date, and the protocol is probably different in Night Vale, and he’s sure it’s been too long, and - anyway. Cecil sounds far more delighted than Carlos thinks he deserves.

“Hi,” he says. “Um. I’m calling for - “ He hesitates. “ - personal reasons.” God, how pathetic is that? He hears Cecil exhale into the phone, a long, breathy exhale. Cecil doesn’t actually say anything, though, so Carlos casts around for something to fill the silence. As always, it’s one of Night Vale’s mysteries that pops into Carlos’s head. “Have you noticed that it never rains here?”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Cecil says. His tone is bemused, as if Carlos had asked _Have you noticed how pillars of salt never pop up out of the ground?_

Actually, that observation would be just plain inaccurate around here.

Carlos takes a breath. “I’d like to see you,” he says, and curses himself for how stilted that sounds.

“Oh, Carlos, I’d like that too. Very much,” Cecil says. His voice is so different on the phone from the way it sounds on the radio - higher, breathier, sweeter. It’s the sweetness of it that always catches Carlos by surprise, because sometimes on the radio Cecil sounds frankly terrifying. But in person he can be so…

“Good. Are you free later? After your show?”

“Yes, absolutely. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

…endearing. Yes, that’s the word.

“Good.”

“Will you be listening in?” Cecil asks, and Carlos catches the hitch in Cecil’s voice and smiles. He almost always listens in, whether he’s driving, or pottering around the lab, or making dinner. The show scares the crap out of him, but - 

\- hell, he likes hearing his name in Cecil’s voice.

“Of course I will,” he says. “I’ll come pick you up after?”

“Please do,” Cecil says.

*

Carlos is unsurprised to find he gets his name on the radio again, though he’s holding out hope that Cecil won’t treat his listeners to a blow-by-blow of what happens tonight. Talking about dates and kissing is one thing, but…

Seeing Cecil standing by the radio station door, Carlos reaches over to open the passenger door even before the brakes are fully engaged. As Cecil settles himself, Carlos glances at the rear-view mirror, then shrugs. He doesn’t care if anyone’s around. He puts a hand on Cecil’s shoulder and leans in for a kiss. Not the brief, distracted kiss of their date, but a slow and thorough one. Cecil’s hand comes up to the side of Carlos’s face, strokes it, and then moves backwards to touch Carlos’s hair.

“Mm,” Carlos says into the kiss, and is gratified when Cecil threads his fingers through his hair. After some indeterminate amount of time - _time doesn’t really work here_ , Carlos reminds himself - they pull apart, and Carlos says, “Your place or mine?”

“Carlos!” Cecil says, sounding equal parts delighted and scandalised.

“Too soon?” Cecil’s fingers are still tangled in Carlos’s hair, and Carlos finds he didn’t want to get too far away. Cecil’s hand in his hair feels far too nice.

“I didn’t say that,” says Cecil, running his fingers backwards to cup the curve of Carlos’s skull.

Carlos shifts in his seat. “I’m not exactly very good at seduction.”

“You’re doing fine so far,” Cecil murmurs. He leans forward minutely, and Carlos takes the cue to kiss him again.

*

They wind up at Cecil’s apartment, which, Carlos notes, seems surprisingly normal for Night Vale. Okay, there’s some kind of purplish ooze seeping out of one wall, and there’s a sound like a multitude of voices chanting from somewhere close by, but the living room looks like a living room and the kitchen looks like a kitchen. He’s particularly gratified to discover that there are no mouths in any of the walls or floors. Steve Carlsberg has a mouth in his bathroom floor, and according to Steve, it’s usually hungry.

They don’t spend any time in the living room or kitchen, anyway. The bedroom also looks normal, if a little neater than Carlos keeps his. There’s even a big window, out of which Carlos can just begin to make out the lights above the Arby’s in the darkening sky. He only gets a moment to look, though, before Cecil pulls him in for a hard kiss. The intensity of it makes Carlos’s breath catch in his throat, because suddenly he’s too hot all over. He pulls Cecil towards the bed, and Cecil doesn’t resist or even break the kiss, as if now that he’s got Carlos in his arms he won’t let go.

Carlos doesn’t want to let go either.

Carlos’s legs collide with the bed somewhat sooner than he expects and he loses his balance in surprise, falling sideways onto the bed. Cecil comes with him, though whether that’s solidarity or simply momentum - does momentum work the same way in Night Vale? He should really test that - he isn’t sure. Either way, a moment later they resume their kissing, Carlos’s clumsiness forgotten, and Carlos’s thoughts on momentum are displaced by Cecil’s fingers reaching for the top button of his shirt.

Cecil, Carlos muses as he allows his shirt to be unbuttoned, is a man of many layers. On the radio, he’s commanding and intense, a voice of authority. One-on-one, he’s sweet and almost shy; he comes off a little old-fashioned, even. Now here’s a new layer: Cecil bites his lip in concentration as his fast and nimble fingers work their way down Carlos’s chest. There’s none of the on-air gravitas to his manner, but the expression on his face is almost… _fierce._ Focused.

With a sweeping motion of his hands, Cecil pushes the two halves of Carlos’s shirt apart, and just like that, Carlos is hard. That part of his brain that’s always searching for explanations provides one instantly - it’s the vulnerability, the sense of Cecil taking charge. Carlos pulls Cecil’s tunic up and off, exposing skin that’s so pale it’s almost translucent, blue veins standing out sharply. Throwing the tunic across the room, he pulls Cecil closer, draws Cecil’s mouth in for another kiss.

He throws one leg over Cecil’s, pressing their bodies close together, until he can feel Cecil’s erection pressing into the soft part of his belly, feel Cecil’s gasps and shudders when they shift against each other. Cecil slides a hand down Carlos’s bare chest and over the front of his pants, teasing Carlos’s cock and making him push his hips forward, wanting more. But even when Carlos makes a noise of helpless impatience, Cecil keeps up the tease, one slow stroke after another, until Carlos is panting and Cecil is grinning.

“Like that?” Cecil says into Carlos’s neck, between one soft kiss and the next. Carlos squirms in response, trying to catch enough breath to speak. He’s on the point of recovering when Cecil gives his cock a light squeeze, and all he can do then is buck and whimper. “Ohhh…” The delight in Cecil’s voice is mingled with arousal, now, and the combination seems to take his voice down about an octave. The sound of it makes Carlos shiver.

“Cecil,” is all he manages to get out. The slow tease feels incredible, and it’s pushing Carlos’s temperature up and up, filling his belly with delicious knots and his cock with hot, urgent pressure. He arches against Cecil’s hand and says, “P-please.”

When he kissed Cecil, earlier, he imagined this going a very different way, but - _oh._ Okay. He has no complaints.

“Please?” Cecil says. There’s a teasing tone in his voice, too. As if he didn’t _know_ what Carlos wants. Carlos tries to answer coherently, but a soft flick of Cecil’s wrist turns Carlos’s first word into a stifled cry. Cecil begins to pick up the pace, still not quite enough pressure but oh yeah that’s _better_ , that’s - Carlos throws his head back and lets out a low, heavy moan. He’s so hard now, trapped in his pants so it’s almost painful, but he can’t quite get enough control of his hands to unzip his own fly and, God, he doesn’t want Cecil to stop, not when he’s so - 

“Wait,” Cecil says, the motion of his hand stopping, “let’s get you a little more comfortable.” Through a burst of frustration, the explanatory part of Carlos’s brain gets as far as thinking, _is he psychic I wouldn’t put it past him_ before Cecil begins to slide down the zipper and it’s obliterated. Of course, _of course_ , Cecil does this part unbearably slowly, too. All Carlos can do is try to breathe through it.

Cecil keeps the rest of his hand on Carlos’s cock, so the pull of the zipper doubles as another slow stroke, and Carlos gives in and starts to moan after about the first inch. By the time Cecil reaches up to unfasten the button, the pressure in Carlos’s cock is almost too much to take. As Cecil pulls down Carlos’s pants and boxer shorts, his hand bumps against Carlos’s erection, and Carlos’s hips jump forward of their own accord.

The pants and boxer shorts wind up around Carlos’s knees, and Carlos briefly considers sitting up and kicking them all the way off, but he’s too slow; Cecil’s hand is back at Carlos’s groin before it’s more than a vague notion. Carlos moans as Cecil’s fingers close around his naked cock, and moans again, impatiently, through another tantalising stroke. He feels hotly, deliciously helpless. Cecil’s mouth makes contact with Carlos’s shoulder, the side of his neck, his throat, and the movement of Cecil’s hand continues, making Carlos’s heart race, his breathing come hot and ragged, and, _mm_ , Cecil is going a little faster now.

Carlos reaches up to grasp Cecil’s shoulder, his breath catching and releasing in his chest. A sweet crescendo begins in his groin, and he pushes up against Cecil’s hand, desperate, tension spreading through his thighs and belly. He’s riding the wave now, the pleasure swelling inside him, and his cock twitches once - twice - and the wave breaks, making him shout with release. He falls back against the bed, panting, eyes closed, and feels Cecil’s slippery hand rest on the inside of his thigh.

There are a few long moments where Carlos can barely breathe.

“Oh, god,” Carlos says when he can talk again. “Cecil.”

“My Carlos,” Cecil says, lovingly.

Carlos nods and kisses him.

*

It takes a good ten minutes for Carlos to get his breath back completely, and another couple to get Cecil out of his slightly bizarre but really rather attractive pants. For a while after that, they only kiss, Carlos letting Cecil’s hands run through his hair over and over. Cecil seems to like that, and it feels pretty good to Carlos’s post-orgasmic skin. Everything’s a little sensitive.

Carlos decides to follow Cecil’s lead when it comes to teasing, and makes sure his hands travel slowly down Cecil’s body as they kiss, tracing gentle patterns on his arms, his chest, his belly. Cecil begins to squirm pleasingly when Carlos’s hands reach his lower belly, and gives a long, low, “Carloooooos,” when Carlos’s hand skims the skin of his upper thigh. Carlos smiles and kisses Cecil’s throat to stall for time.

Cecil lets out a huff of breath in the direction of the ceiling, not impatient so much as turned on. Carlos pulls back to look at Cecil’s face. His eyes are closed, lips parted, his arms splayed in an attitude of utter vulnerability - do what you will with me. And - something catches Carlos’s eye, and he glances out the window.

Are those _rainclouds?_

Carlos forcibly suppresses the urge to rush outside. These are the first _normal_ clouds he’s seen since he crossed the state line over a year ago, and man, but he wants to be out in the rain. After two years in Seattle, he didn’t think he’d ever miss it, but…

_Never mind_ , he thinks, looking back down at Cecil. Cecil has opened one eye - his third - and is looking at him curiously. “Carlos?” he says. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course,” Carlos says. He leans down to kiss Cecil again. Cecil leans up to meet his mouth hungrily, and while they are kissing, Carlos slides his hand along Cecil’s erection.

Cecil moans gratifyingly into Carlos’s mouth.

Carlos keeps stroking Cecil’s cock, kissing slowly along the side of Cecil’s face and down to his neck. Cecil is breathing hard, but underneath that sound is another, much softer, one that Carlos has almost forgotten. It takes a couple of minutes of the sound slowly getting louder for Carlos to recognise it and look up, startled, at the window. His hand stills on Cecil’s cock. “Oh my God,” he says. “It’s raining.” He can see the raindrops hitting the window.

“What?” says Cecil, sounding dazed.

“It’s - “ But the sound is diminishing, thinning. As Carlos watches, the rain stops falling, leaving behind only drops clinging to the window. “Never mind,” he says, and leans up to kiss Cecil’s mouth again. Cecil puts a hand in Carlos’s hair and tugs lightly when Carlos squeezes Cecil’s cock gently, then starts to tease once more.

After a few moments, Carlos hears rain again.

“What the,” he murmurs. Without thinking about it, he sits up. He has the notion to cross to the window - at least get a quick look at the rain so he can give Cecil his full attention - but by the time his feet touch the floor, it’s stopped again. He frowns and rubs at the back of his neck, his mind divided neatly in two. On the one hand, Cecil, all heavy breathing and mussed hair, Cecil his favourite mystery and permanent distraction. On the other: but why in the _hell_ is it raining? “This is insane,” he says to himself.

“Carlos,” Cecil says, propping himself up on one elbow, “what in the name of the Old Ones are you doing?” There’s some tension in his voice. It’s understandable, Carlos thinks, under the circumstances. All three of his eyes are open now, one violet, two blue-green. Carlos - the half of Carlos that’s in love, at least - wants to push Cecil back down on the bed and kiss him, forget the rain, forget every other mystery. Smooth Cecil’s frustration away. It’s just that the other half won’t let him.

_Thinking like this,_ he tells himself, _is probably how folks end up with evil twins. Stop it._

“I’m - “ Carlos says. For a moment he feels utterly at a loss for words. Then, looking from Cecil to the window and back again, he is struck with inspiration. A way to pull the two halves of himself together and, with luck, avoid a battle to the death with his own mirror-image. “Wanna do an experiment?” 

Cecil grins at him. “You know I’ve always wanted to take part in an experiment. What kind of experiment?” 

Carlos swings his feet back onto the bed and crawls over to Cecil. “This one’s… sexual. And scientific at the same time.” 

“That sounds like the best kind of experiment,” Cecil says. 

“I think so, too,” Carlos says. 

* 

It’s an impossible hypothesis. Actually impossible. 

It’s not like that’s a problem in Night Vale, though, and it’s not like Carlos doesn’t _know_ that. Which is good, because the hypothesis seems to be true. When Carlos touches Cecil’s cock, rain begins to fall. Carlos tests this particular part of the hypothesis several times - rubbing and squeezing for a minute or two and watching the window, then stopping, and waiting for the rain to follow suit only a few seconds later. 

Then comes the next part of the experiment: how fine is the control, here? Carlos is surprised and gratified - and a little turned on - to discover that the more aroused Cecil becomes, the heavier the rain gets. Carlos tries this a few different ways. A slow tease makes the downpour gradually more intense over several minutes; when he gives Cecil harder, faster strokes, rain immediately begins to tap loudly on the window. 

After a few rounds of experiments, Cecil is panting, and after thirty seconds the rain has thinned to a drizzle but still hasn’t stopped. “Carlos,” Cecil says, looking up at him through heavy lids, “you are testing the limits of my endurance. Is that the idea?” 

“No,” Carlos says. _Though that might be fun another time,_ he thinks. “I think it’s time for the final phase of the experiment.” 

“What’s that?” Cecil says. 

Carlos smiles, kisses Cecil’s belly once, and takes Cecil’s cock into his mouth. 

Outside, there is the rumble of thunder, and the rain thrums against the window. Cecil’s moans, though loud, are barely audible against the beautiful, blessed sound of the rain. _Rain!_ Carlos thinks. _And it was so easy!_ If only all of Night Vale’s mysteries were so quickly solved. 

He doesn’t look up, concentrating fully on giving Cecil as much pleasure as possible, but he can’t stop his mind from racing. What does this mean about Cecil? About Night Vale? And can they have sex outdoors pretty soon? He wants the feel of rain on his skin - but not nearly so much, he discovers, as he wants to make Cecil come. 

He’s close. Carlos would know that, even if Cecil were entirely silent, from the way that the cracks of thunder are drawing closer together, one after another, as Cecil writhes and bucks. And Cecil is far from silent, though Carlos can barely hear him. At last, Cecil gives a long, strangled cry; as he lets go into Carlos’s mouth, lightning streaks across the sky at the edge of Carlos’s vision. Carlos swallows and pulls back a little, places a kiss on Cecil’s knee, another on his belly, and settles himself next to his rainmaking lover. Cecil wraps an arm around Carlos and puts his head on Carlos’s shoulder, his eyes meeting Carlos’s briefly before they flutter and close. 

The sound of rain lessens, but does not disappear entirely. 

“Was your experiment a success?” Cecil asks, his breath warm in the hollow of Carlos’s throat. 

“Absolutely,” Carlos says. 

For the first time in over a year, Carlos falls asleep to the sound of rain. 

* 

Old Woman Josie holds a newspaper over her head as she rushes back into the house. “All this rain!” she says to Erika. “It has to pour this morning, too, wasn’t last night enough?” 

The angel says nothing, only closing the door behind Josie and smiling to itself, unknowable. 


End file.
